


Old Ivories

by CleverCatchphrase



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bittersweet, F/M, Growing Old Together, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:32:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverCatchphrase/pseuds/CleverCatchphrase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans gets arthritis and it makes him sad. A Soriel ship fic, and written as part of NaNoWriMo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Ivories

When Sans had learned that Toriel was fond of music, he asked Undyne to teach him how to play the piano so he could impress her. Many long hours were spent plucking away at keys, and just as many long nights were spent removing spears and repairing the piano from Undyne’s more… _enthusiastic_ lessons. 

It had taken weeks of practice, but Sans stuck with it, tapping out note after note and memorizing as many songs as he could. Toriel had been over the moon the first time he played for her.

“Oh, Sans, you learned to play the piano just for me?” She said, her eyes tearing up from joy. “That is so sweet! How long have you been practicing?”

“It took a couple of months for me to get halfway decent,” Sans replied. “Too bad I just can’t _play by ear_.”

He winks and she laughs and it’s the best sound in the world. It’s like music, but better music than he could ever hope to imitate on the eighty-eight keys. Thankfully Toriel was no instrument and needed not to be played. All he had to do was tell a joke to hear that beautiful voice and Sans was nothing if not ready with a pun at any given moment.

“Hey Tori, if I replaced my collarbone with piano keys, do you know what I would have?”

She’s already giggling, sensing the impending pun, but manages to ask anyway, “What?”

“A _clavichord._ ”

And there it is, that laugh. Oh, it is like heaven.

“I am so flattered you learned something just for me,” Toriel says, kissing his skull. “Would you play me another?”

“Absolutely! Here, have a seat by me and I’ll take you for _a spinet._ ” And just like that, she’s laughing along to his chiptunes and it’s pure harmony.

Sans played every song he knew for her the rest of that day, and each day after that. Sometimes the songs were lively and energetic, sometimes the melodies were slow and calming, but never a day went by where he didn’t play for her and she didn’t laugh for him.

After a while he tried to write his own music, serenades and love songs all just for her. She adds her own lyrics and they just _work together so well_ and it makes her _so happy_. She never fails to sneak in a joke while they compose in sync, and oh, it was bliss, it was perfection.

Through good days and bad days he played and she sang. On holidays when everyone came home, and on birthdays when they each got a little older, they filled the air with music and oh, it was joy.

When Undyne moved away, Sans became the one to teach piano lessons to the neighborhood kids. He tried to teach Toriel to play too, but she just felt too clumsy and awkward with her big furry digits, and politely declined. So he taught Frisk to play instead.

Frisk played like natural, and oh, how proud they were. Their love for the child was so pure and true they barely noticed how much they were aging as Frisk grew up, and Frisk grew up faster than they ever thought possible. When Frisk started high school, maybe it was then Sans begun to notice his hands were not as fast on the keys as they used to be. When Frisk went to college, perhaps it was then he began to notice how his fingers felt stiff when he tapped away. When Frisk left home to start a family of their own, it might have been then Sans noticed how his joints stung when he hit each key.

But still he would play despite how much his carpels ached. He’d ignore it, deny it, he’d continue playing for her to make her happy, to make her laugh, until-

“Is something wrong?” Toriel asked when Sans stopped playing the serenade, _her_ serenade, in the middle of the song.

“It’s… my hands,” he said after a long silence, rubbing bone against bone trying to massage the soreness out, but only making it worse. “My joints… hurt too much,” he admits. “I used to be able to ignore it, but now… the pain is just unbearable.” He tries to give her an apologetic smile, but it is weak and defeated. Toriel searches his face but does not smile back, and he looks away in shame. He’s let her down. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t think I can play anymore.”

“Shhhhh,” she whispers when his voice sounds close to breaking, and gently pulls his tired hands into hers. Her hands are larger and they are warm and they are soft, and although they do not take the pain away, Sans already begins to feel better. “You should have told me you were getting arthritis,” she murmurs. “I could have tried to help.”

Sans dares to look into her eyes but instead of finding the disappointment he was expecting, all he sees is love and concern.

“I’m afraid there’s little you could do. Little anyone could do, really, since I am nothing but bones,” he says.

Toriel smiles sympathetically and Sans gets lost in her face. She has laugh wrinkles around her eyes and silvery fur all about her muzzle. He knew he too had been physically changing these past decades, but didn’t want to admit it. Now it seemed inevitable.

“Toriel, when did we both get so old?” He asks her quietly, and she wraps one arm around his waist and pulls him close.

“We were always old, Sans” She sighs. “With Frisk in our lives it just finally caught up to us.”

“What will we do now?” He asks, looking at the piano. “I don’t think I can play anymore, but I’d hate to stop our little daily tradition.”

“My hands still work well enough,” Toriel suggests. “Maybe I can play now, if you’re still willing to teach me. We can start with your children’s lessons even though I’m not _a minor_.”

“Only if you have more jokes where those came from,” Sans smiles, and she laughs that wonderful laugh of hers and it hasn’t aged at all and oh, it is love.

“It’s a deal,” She says, and he places his hands on hers to get them in the right position on the old ivories, and together they played.


End file.
